


You've got me gone and lost and found

by seventeensteps



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Sex Pollen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22712419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: "Get fucked, Geralt!" He screamed, ears hot with indignation, and shook the broken seal furiously. Geralt's cat eyes flashed dangerously, and Jaskier was already opening his mouth again, another insult poised readily on the tip of his tongue. But before Jaskier or Geralt could put in another word, a plume of smoke materialized between them, thick and unexpected. It rammed hard into Geralt's chest.Or, what if Jaskier was the one with the wishes.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 558





	You've got me gone and lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> Watched the show, played the games, and read some of the books. My main takeaway from all this is this: Geralt is just a lonely old man with a soft heart. He believes in the goodness of others, despite being subjected to so much shit time and time again. In short, he's a total baby T_T
> 
> Anyway! Forgive me if you spot something weird and please feel free to point out any typos.
> 
> Title from Fumes by EDEN.

In the haste of adrenaline and anger, Jaskier's mouth always ran faster than his brain. It had gotten him into so much trouble as a child. Jaskier was not a big kid then, and coupled with his non-existent brain-to-mouth filter, he'd soon gotten quite used to being a target to punches and kicks from boys in the neighborhood. The adults hadn't appreciated his blabbering mouth either, but they were far better at controlling their temperament. Once, a priest got so mad at his endless questioning about gods and sins and faith that he was banned from going to the preaching for a whole month. _Think before you speak_ , his ma used to say.

Jaskier was an adult now, and he had gotten much better at turning his vice into his virtue, so much that he could make a living out of it. However, thinking back to her advice, his ma would be very disappointed with him right now.

"Get fucked, Geralt!" He screamed, ears hot with indignation, and shook the broken seal furiously. Geralt's cat eyes flashed dangerously, and Jaskier was already opening his mouth again, another insult poised readily on the tip of his tongue. But before Jaskier or Geralt could put in another word, a plume of smoke materialized between them, thick and unexpected. It rammed hard into Geralt's chest.

In a normal circumstance, the witcher would've been able to make a Heliotrope sign in time to cushion the attack, but since the proximity was too close and the blow too sudden, it knocked Geralt over, sending him into the mud, and twisted violently before shooting off and disappeared completely.

Geralt coughed, one hand clutching his chest where the smoke hit, another trying to push himself up. Jaskier quickly knelt down to help, and was alarmed at how much weight Geralt was putting on him in order to stand up. All anger vanished and turned to worry in an instant.

"Geralt?" prompted Jaskier, noticing how ragged the other's breathing had become. "How are you feeling? Are you hurt? Talk to me."

The man groaned, pushing Jaskier away to stand by himself, and ending up leaning heavily against Roach. The horse snorted unhappily at her owner's distress, but staying very still as Geralt climbed onto her back.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier started after him. The witcher didn't reply, and winced a little once Roach began walking again. From the direction the mare was heading, toward the main road where he came from, Jaskier could guess Geralt's destination, and relief filled his stomach a little. Rinde was only a half-hour away.

Jaskier was about to ask about his condition again when Geralt swayed dangerously. Fortunately, Roach was skilled enough to compensate for the shifting weight on her back, but it made Jaskier scared nonetheless.

This time, Geralt didn't protest when he stopped Roach with a gentle tug, and climbed up behind him. This close, Jaskier could feel the heat radiating off from him. Geralt's body was burning. He had a fever.

Jaskier quickened Roach's pace and, cursing his quick mouth, really hoped Rinde's healer knew how to treat an affliction caused by a djinn.

* * *

The healers, as it turned out, knew fuck all about Geralt's illness. The two healers Jaskier found both said it was a minor fever, that it would soon pass for a strong man like him, and adamantly refused to let them stay in their homes. Jaskier was on the verge of crying at the prejudice of these people when a tall elf waved at them. He held open the door to a tavern, a rather shabby tavern from what Jaskier could see, but the gesture did make his eyes burn a little.

Jaskier and the elf, whose name he learned later was Chireadan, almost had to carry Geralt inside and straight into a small room to deposit him on a thin bed. The man sweat profusely and, in the low candlelight, Jaskier was startled to notice how hard the witcher was. It was difficult to mistake the bulge in his ridiculously tight trousers even as the man shifted onto his side, curling in on himself. "Go away," Geralt said, closing his eyes, voice hoarse and unstable.

Geralt hadn't said anything to him at all, save for some groans and grunts, while they were looking for help, and now Jaskier knew why.

"Get out," Geralt growled, albeit a bit too weakly for it to sound intimidating. Jaskier coughed and dragged the elf out of the room to give the man some space anyway.

Chireadan, whose cousin was the owner of this welcoming inn, looked to the poet for an explanation after shutting the door. "Want something to drink?" he offered, and Jaskier nodded.

With a tankard in his hand, Jaskier recounted the incident – _djin_ cident, his treacherous brain unhelpfully supplied – to him.

Chireadan, after listening to the story with a quiet, attentive look, poured Jaskier and himself another round. "Can I see the seal?" the elf asked suddenly.

"Please." Jaskier fished the object out from his bag and handed it to him, silently thanking himself for having enough conscience not to throw it away after their stupid argument.

"And you, master poet," Chireadan studied it closely with a frown, as if it meant _something_ , "you said you cursed at him after the seal was broken. What did you say, exactly?"

Jaskier, thinking back to that exact moment, blanched. "You don't think..."

Chireadan glanced at him expectedly, waiting for an answer.

Geralt would kill him. No doubt about it.

Jaskier did just condemn his friend to his last, unintended wish after all.

* * *

After an embarrassing discussion with Chireadan and Errdil, the tavern's owner and Chireadan's cousin, Jaskier had decided that Geralt's best chance was Rinde's local sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Chireadan had warned him that she was powerful and to be careful since Yennefer was dangerous and would surely demand something unthinkable in return. Jaskier didn't even know if she'd agree to help the witcher or what they would pay her, but he would never just sit there on his ass while his friend suffered because of his error.

"Geralt," Jaskier pushed open the door to their room, ready to pass on the good news and carry Geralt to Yennefer if he had to, but the rest of what he planned to say died on his tongue in an instant.

The man was still on his side, his back toward the door, but he was as naked as the day he had been born, powerful muscles and terrifying scars on full display. The unmistakable scent of sex and semen permeated the air, and Jaskier's ears burned when he spot Geralt's hand _still_ moving jerkily between his legs. He was fully awake now, that much was clear. Jaskier shut the door behind him as quickly as possible.

"Geralt," he tried again, not exactly sure what to do or say, and Jaskier always knew what to say, even when he had zero ideas what to do.

"Fuck," Geralt growled, like he had just noticed the bard's presence in the room.

Jaskier inched toward him. "There's a sorceress in town. She lives under the protection of the merchant Beau Berrant. We should get there immediately-"

Geralt sighed wearily and turned onto his back, dark blush painted his usually pale cheeks. "There's no need for a sorceress," he said; his manhood was hard, the head red and leaking. It was pretty obvious to him what the witcher needed.

Jaskier blinked, heart thundering. "But your condition."

"My _condition_ ," Geralt stressed, tugging at his cock absently, "was the result of your wish, Jaskier. It could be solved very easily, without magic. I prefer not to have any more spells or incantations cast on me. I could go out and hire a professional, or I could use some help from around here."

The troubadour's brain skidded to a halt. "Oh Melitele. Are you guilt-tripping me into having sex with you?"

Geralt made a face, then stood up shakily and started to gather his clothes. "Forgive my poor eloquence. It was simply a question."

"Geralt, wait." Jaskier winced, thoughts racing, when Geralt began dressing quietly. "It's just... hey, I'm sorry."

Geralt paused, his trousers half-way laced.

"I'm, I'm sorry for that wish, Geralt. If I could take it back, I would. It was childish of me to say all those things, wish for all those things – I was arrogant. I didn't listen to you when you told me to stop. I thought a djin – well, I don't know what I was thinking, but I should've listened to you," Jaskier said in a rush.

Geralt grunted and resumed dressing. "I'm sorry for being disrespectful to you as well. Have to admit your singing wasn't that bad, although the lyrics are a bit..."

"Oh. But people love listening to heroic deeds, Geralt, and I had to be truthful to the real events," Jaskier said, his heart fluttered, then did a confused leap when Geralt walked past him toward the door. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Still need to tend to my... _condition_ ," Geralt explained slowly, quietly. From this distance, Jaskier could see how dark the witcher's eyes had become, the sweat despite the cold breezing in through the open window. "It won't go away otherwise, and I can't fight monsters like this."

Jaskier shivered, but not because of the wind.

The bard reached up to touch the face of the man in his songs, tracing the scar there. Jaskier asked, slow and deliberate, "What if I say I want to help?"

Geralt closed his eyes and hummed, whispered, "Must I beg as well?"

Jaskier swore Geralt knew, even with his eyes closed, exactly what that did to him.

They ended up on the bed, and Jaskier didn't bother to hide how eager he was to get Geralt naked again. He kissed every expanse of heated skin, every scar revealed to him, cataloging, memorizing. Jaskier could already feel the light grasp of a ballad that would be written later – private and too intimate for his usual audience.

"Jaskier," Geralt grunted, rubbing himself against Jaskier's thigh, feline amber eyes wild and dilated, silver hair disheveled. Jaskier felt his own breath catch at the sight, tipping his head down to kiss him again to smother the feelings bubbling inside him.

"Sorry," the poet said once they parted, biting Geralt's sharp jaw, "let me take care of you."

Lips red and swollen, Geralt rolled his eyes. "Get on with it then."

"Have you done this before?" Jaskier had to ask – it was crucial to how he should proceed next.

"The sex? Of course, Jas," Geralt said, exasperate. Jaskier might have died a little at the nickname.

"No, you big lug," Jaskier sat up between Geralt's thighs. "I meant _getting fucked_."

Geralt simply put an arm over his face and ground out, "Not often enough."

Jaskier shifted and picked up his bag. "Aha," he said, showing Geralt a bottle of oil.

Geralt inhaled deeply once he popped open the cork. "Chamomile," he observed.

"You liked it when I massaged you with this, admit it." Jaskier wiggled the glass bottle, then poured it liberally onto Geralt's stiff cock. Some dribbled down between his cheeks. He started rubbing Geralt's now slicked member, drawing a low moan from the witcher's throat.

"Jas, don't," Geralt bit his bottom lip when Jaskier pressed his thumb against the slit. "I'm sensitive. I can't."

Jaskier stopped his hand immediately. "What did you mean, you can't?"

"I can't come, must've been the djin," Geralt groaned, pushing his white hair away from his eyes. "I can't- I want to but-"

"Shhh, it's all right," Jaskier kneaded his thigh, gentle. "I know what to do."

Geralt merely grunted when Jaskier lifted his leg up and put it over his shoulder. He swiped up the excess oil with his fingers, and started to rub a slow rhythm against Geralt's puckered hole. The witcher spread his legs wider and Jaskier grinned, repeating the act until he could sense Geralt's taut muscles started to relax, then pushed a finger inside. Jaskier moved it in and out experimentally, curling once he felt a soft bump. Geralt twitched. And swore very loudly.

"Fuck," the witcher groaned – grabbing his ass – and pulled, all the while grinding down impatiently onto Jaskier's slicked finger, "just fuck me already."

"It's too soon," he said, pulling his finger out entirely before adding another. Geralt grunted.

"I'll be the one to decide that," the witcher said, twisting his head to the side, "hngg."

Jaskier scissored his fingers, fast and on the verge of being rough. "So pretty, Geralt. You don't know what you're doing to me."

"Jaskier," Geralt growled, hips bucking. " _More._ "

"Fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, afraid that he'd come like this, hard and leaking with Geralt under him, begging so beautifully. Parts of him ached for what would come _after –_ once full and sated, Geralt would never let the bard touch him again. Jaskier bit his cheek and opened his eyes, drinking in the sight before him. _It's all right_ , he told himself, _what I should worry about right now is Geralt's health._ That's the least he could do for his friend. Jaskier was the reason he was like this in the first place.

He made sure Geralt was loose enough for him, despite the protest, babbling senseless compliments into Geralt's skin. The man's mouth was open, noises escaped his raw throat, demanding more.

And really, Jaskier was merely _human_.

After he deemed Geralt ready, Jaskier removed his fingers and slicked up his cock urgently, hissing when his neglected organ finally got the attention. Geralt moaned lowly at the loss, and Jaskier's heart throbbed with hunger – and something he recognized but didn't want to give it any proper thought right now.

Now, Jaskier lined himself up and pushed. A shallow thrust at first, letting Geralt adjust at the intrusion. The man growled, then hooked an arm around his waist-

Next thing he knew, he was on his back, Geralt on top of him, staring down with those golden, unreadable eyes. Bracing his hands on the wooden bed frame above Jaskier's head, Geralt began to _move._

Jaskier keened. He might have blacked out for a bit, but the onslaught on sensations was too much. Geralt was hot and tight and slicked inside, taking Jaskier in so _well_. Geralt sank down to the root in no time at all, and Jaskier almost bit himself bloodied trying not to come right away. His hands felt restless, shaking. Geralt took a pity on him, and said, "You can touch me."

Jaskier, never a man who needed to be told twice, put his hand on Geralt's pec, kneading. He was going to come. "So beautiful, Geralt."

"Hmm," Geralt grunted, frowning, though his eyes were dazed and glassy. His pace was relentless, pulling Jaskier closer and closer to the edge.

"Geralt," he panted, _whined_.

"Do it," Geralt twisted his hips, sharp and commanding.

Jaskier, his mind noted absently that Geralt was also trembling, finally let go.

His orgasm was intense, left him boneless and satisfied. He tugged Geralt down to kiss him, then noticed that the witcher was still hard.

"Fuck," Geralt almost sobbed, "this is-"

"Shh," Jaskier soothed him, slipping out of Geralt. "Let me take care of you."

And Geralt – as surprising as it was – let him. He moved Geralt onto the pillow, and shifted behind him. "What-" Geralt slurred a little.

"It's okay," Jaskier said, before dipping down to lick at where they connected seconds ago.

The tension in Geralt's back bled out of him more and more the longer Jaskier suck and ate him out. Geralt was practically whimpering when Jaskier was hard once again. When he pushed in this time, slow and gentle, the witcher simply _melted._

He kept going like that, lazy and languid, one arm around Geralt's stomach, tilting him a bit every time he went back in, and then Geralt cried out, pleased and surprised. Jaskier focused his attention on that sweet spot inside, intent on making this as good for Geralt as it was for him.

Geralt's climax came suddenly, his muscles tensed and twitching, squeezing Jaskier until he spilled again inside. He planted chasted kisses onto Geralt's shoulder blades and pulled out carefully. His own seeds spilled out after. Geralt was silent.

Jaskier shifted between his thighs and lowered himself down again. He cleaned Geralt up, pushing one finger in, and felt Geralt's member stirred. Should've expected as much from a witcher's stamina.

Geralt came again just like that, on Jaskier's tongue, voice hoarse and contented. The poet moved up behind him, nuzzling in close, winding an arm around the other's waist lightly, bracing to be shoved away for his own audacity.

Geralt, that witcher of his, just grunted, pushing back slightly, and promptly fell asleep.

Jaskier's rest, though, came much, much later that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> Come talk to me about the Witcher on [twitter](https://twitter.com/divevil).


End file.
